


on the verge of realization

by JourEtNuit



Category: RWBY
Genre: Beacon Days, F/F, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 17:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19873198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JourEtNuit/pseuds/JourEtNuit
Summary: She doesn’t question it, the sense of familiarity, of unconditionalsafety, that comes with Yang’s presence, even though they’ve known each other for less than half a year, even though Blake’s promised herself she’d keep her distance this time, she’d be careful, lest she repeats past mistakes.Team RWBY is having an early morning training session, and Blake is distracted.Written for Bumbleby Week day 5 - Beacon Days





	on the verge of realization

It’s very early - a couple hours before dawn - and quite chilly outside. The autumnal wind has a cruel bite to it, and Blake hugs her sweater, wishing she was wearing something a little warmer than her workout shorts. Around her, Beacon Academy is still and quiet. Most students are probably sound asleep in their dorm rooms, and Blake _really_ misses her bed.

Beside her, Weiss stands straight, unhappy, clad in skintight leggings and a long-sleeved white workout shirt. “Where are they?” she grumbles, heel stomping petulantly against the ground.

Ruby asked them to meet in the central courtyard for an early training session - the Vytal Tournament starts tomorrow, and she wants the team to be in top shape - but neither her nor Yang have arrived yet. They were gone by the time Blake and Weiss left the dorm room, presumably to get something to eat.

“I swear, if this is some kind of prank….” Weiss starts. She’s interrupted by a flurry of rose petals, and the screeching sound of a fast-moving body coming to an abrupt halt.

“Morning!” Ruby shouts, appearing between them with the energy of someone who’s already consumed an unnecessary amount of sugar.

Blake winces at the volume. “Hey, Ruby. Where’s Yang?”

“Right here.” A familiar arm curls around her shoulders, and her partner steps next to her, drawing her in a side hug. Yang smells like coffee, and she feels warm against Blake, and for a minute Blake is overwhelmed with the desire to close her eyes and fall back to sleep.

(She doesn’t question it, the sense of familiarity, of unconditional _safety_ , that comes with Yang’s presence, even though they’ve known each other for less than half a year, even though Blake’s promised herself she’d keep her distance this time, she’d be careful, lest she repeats past mistakes.)

“Alright team! Let’s do this!” Ruby says, cheerful as always, punctuating her words with a light punch to Weiss’s shoulder, which earns her a glare and a shove.

Right. Blake shakes herself out of her morning haze, rolling her neck. Yang lets her go, and they stand side by side listening to Ruby’s instructions.

Today’s program is nothing complex: some sparring, some stretching, some strength and speed exercises. And to start it all, an hour-long run throughout the school grounds. Weiss groans at that prospect, but Blake doesn’t mind. She likes running - how her lungs burn and her legs ache and how it sharpens her thoughts, helping her focus on the moment, and nothing else. After a few minutes of warm-up, Ruby takes the lead, and Weiss follows her, displeased but disciplined. Blake and Yang bring up the rear.

It’s quiet. Peaceful. The four of them are alone, apart from a few students hurrying towards the library, and a second-year team engaged in semblance practice in the West courtyard.

Blake and Yang don’t talk while they run, so the only sounds are the soft thump of their feet against the grass, and the regular rhythm of their breathing. From time to time, they knock elbows, or bump shoulders, and Yang grins at her. Every time, Blake smiles back.

(And that’s another thing she won’t question: the warmth filling her chest when Yang looks at her, like sunlight on her skin ; how easily they fall into pace with one another, like the tide and the moon. No, Blake won’t question it, and she won’t let herself dig too deep into the recesses of her heart. After all, this is only their first year. She has all the time in the world to figure it out.)

The sun rises, timid and pale, as they finish their run. Weiss lets herself fall on a stone bench - she’s breathing hard and fast, strands of white hair sticking to her temples. Sweat drips down Blake’s back, soaking her shirt, and she’s a little out of breath, but otherwise fine. Ruby smiles wide, and gives them all congratulatory high-fives.

“Yay, team RWBY! We’re gonna kick ass in the tournament!”

Blake smiles back, relishing in the sense of pride surging through her, while Yang cheerfully claps Weiss on the shoulder. She’s still not quite used to feeling _accomplished_ after a training exercise. When Adam was her mentor, nothing was ever good enough. __She was never good enough. If she closes her eyes, she can still hear his voice, disappointed and angry, she can still see the downward curve of his mouth, the dismissive snap of his fingers. But Ruby is nothing like him, Beacon is nothing like the White Fang, and sometimes it dawns on her: how different her life is, here, with these people. How much _happier_ she is.

“Here,” Yang says, handing her a bottle of water.

“Thanks.”

As she drinks, she can’t help wondering how much of her newfound happiness she owes to Yang. She cherishes her bond with Ruby and Weiss, of course - and Jaune, Pyrrha, Ren, Nora, Sun, Neptune, Velvet… she’s met so many new friends, in so little time. But Yang is… well, she’s her partner, right? So that makes her different. Not more important, necessarily, just… different.

(She keeps feeling like she’s on the verge of a realization, these days, like something crucial is hovering at the edge of her awareness, and all it would take is the slightest push for her to grasp it.)

Blake swallows her last gulp of water, lost in thoughts, glancing at Yang absent-mindedly, and suddenly finds herself _staring_. Yang is busy wiping her face with the front of her tank top, and Blake can’t look away from the hard, flat plane of her lower stomach, the way her bare skin glistens with sweat, the sharp jut of her hipbones. She swallows again, hard. Her heartbeat quickens, though she’s no longer running, and when Yang looks up and notices her watching, Blake’s cheeks grow so hot she instinctively presses the cold bottle against her skin, in an attempt to cool off.

“You okay there, Belladonna?” Yang says, with a small knowing smirk that does nothing to help Blake’s flustered state.

“Fine,” she manages. The word comes out annoyingly strangled and Weiss narrows her eyes, frowning with something close to irritation, though by now Blake’s learned it usually covers genuine care.

“You _do_ look weird. Are you coming down with something? Please stay away from me, I can’t afford to be sick this semester.”

“Guys. I’m fine.” This time Blake’s voice sounds firm, and Weiss visibly relents. Yang must take pity on her as well, because she doesn’t say anything else, instead pulling her hair up in a messy bun. Blake decidedly avoids looking at Yang’s arms. She’s embarrassed herself enough as it is.

Ruby claps her hands, bringing them back to the task. “Okay guys, rest is over. Next is hand-to-hand combat. Yang, you’re in charge, since you’re the best at it!”

Yang makes a fist, and slams it forcefully against the palm of her other hand. Weiss rolls her eyes at the display but gets up nonetheless, stretching her arms high above her head. “At least don’t blast your terrible pop music this time, Yang. Let us have peace and quiet while we suffer.”

“Whatever. You can pretend you hate my taste in music all you want, Ice Queen, but you’re the one I caught singing in the shower to…”

“Are we training or having a chat?” Weiss cuts her off, a murderous glint in her eyes, ears a little pink. Blake and Ruby exchange an amused glance, and Yang snorts, but lets it go.

They start with some stretching, then Yang has them repeating precise series of jabs and punches and kicks. The sun is now high in the sky, and it’s a beautiful, clear morning. They’ve chosen the isolated corner of a remote courtyard, far from the main part of campus, so no one bothers them. Which is for the best: unarmed hand-to-hand combat isn’t really Blake’s thing, and she needs all her concentration to mimic Yang’s movements. She’s doing better than Ruby and Weiss, but still, Yang often has to correct her stance, light hands pressing on her hips to get her to turn, or moving her arms to a different position.

It’s casual, practical, professional even, Blake knows it, and yet. And yet. She could swear every touch from Yang leaves a trace on her skin, a handprint, and her nerves flare like kindling catching fire. She’s just not used to being touched like that, Blake reasons, ignoring the craving in the bottom of her stomach. So what, if she’s starved for the kind of easy, affectionate closeness that comes with Yang’s friendship? It’s been a while, that’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

The unexpected sting on the back of her thigh, just below her ass, makes her jump. Yang just gave her a _smack_ , she realizes belatedly, not hard enough to really hurt, but certainly enough to get her attention. “Focus,” she scolds Blake, not unkindly. The hint of playful warning in her tone is somehow as distracting as her touch, and it takes all of Blake’s self-control to push down the sudden wave of vague yearning, teeth clenched.

Yang is right, she needs to focus, this is ridiculous. The tournament is tomorrow. She exhales through her nose, inhales deeply, and starts over.

“Great job,” Yang praises them eventually, when she deems that the practice has gone for long enough. “Now, let’s do some sparring. Partner up! The lightweights together,” she adds, pointing at Weiss and Ruby, who both hilariously make the exact same grumpy face, before turning towards Blake. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

“You don’t have to,” Blake replies, mildly offended, before she can think better of it. “I can hold my own.”

Yang laughs. “Oh, we’re feeling confident today, huh? Alright. Belladonna. Let’s see what you got.”

Weiss sniggers at Blake, but promptly cuts it out when Ruby tackles her to the ground. “What the hell, Ruby?” she yelps. “Yang didn’t give us the signal!”

“In a real combat situation, nobody will be there to give you the green light,” Yang ponders, sagely, in a remarkable impression of Professor Port. “You always have to be ready to react!”

“I have _been_ in real combat situations, thanks!” Weiss spits out, trying to no avail to dislodge Ruby from her back.

Blake bites the inside of her cheeks to stop herself from laughing at theirs antics and, seeing Yang distracted, takes a chance. She swings her left leg low, hoping to catch Yang’s ankles and make her fall. Yang jumps out of the way before Blake can even touch her, and grins, cocky.

“Nice try.”

Blake leaps, changing tactics, kicking high at Yang’s head with her right leg this time. Yang deflects the hit with a steady arm, and sends a curved left hook Blake’s way. Her knuckles graze Blake’s shoulder but she manages to dodge the brunt of it.

“Good,” Yang says. She raises both fists protectively in front of her face, and motions for Blake to come at her. “Try again.”

So Blake does. She throws kicks and punches, elbows and knees, and a few connect with Yang, but most of Blake’s efforts she evades, easily. It’s mesmerizing, watching Yang fight and turn and deflect and attack, feet light on the ground. Her body moves almost effortlessly, each of her hits powerful and precise. Blake’s eyes follow the ripple of muscles underneath Yang’s skin, fascinated by the strength and the control, and the beauty of it. Of her.

This time when Yang smacks her again, it’s right across Blake’s ass, and her hand lands much harder. Blake can’t help a little gasp, mouth opening in shock. It _stings_ , but the sensation sends unexpected sparks down her lower stomach, and Blake really doesn’t know what to do with that.

“You’re still not focusing,” Yang says, raising an eyebrow, as if daring Blake to protest. Blake closes her mouth, cheeks burning. What is up with her today? She’s never been so distracted before. (She’s never been so distracted _by Yang_.) There’s something tugging, pulling, inside her chest, like a buried truth trying to burst through, but Blake’s too afraid to let it out. It’s dangerous, she knows, from experience, to look too closely at one’s heart.

Yang’s eyes soften, and she drops her guard, looking at Blake with caution. “Are you doing okay?” She takes a step forward, and hesitates, before placing her hand on Blake’s shoulder, very gently. “Are you stressed out about the tournament? Is something else on your mind? You can talk to me, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Blake murmurs. There’s that feeling again, like she’s missing something important, something she should know. She grabs Yang’s hand in her own, and squeezes her fingers. “Thank you.”

Yang’s thumb brushes the back of her hand, tracing light circles on her skin. “What’s going on?” she asks, her voice low and serious. Then she smiles, lightening the mood. “Why are you being such a handful, Belladonna?”

Blake huffs, smiling despite herself. “I have no idea. Maybe you’re right, and I’m just anxious about the tournament tomorrow? I’m not sure. Sorry I’m being the worst partner,” she adds with a small apologetic shrug.

Yang shakes her head, and advances on her so fast there’s nothing Blake can do before she’s engulfed in Yang’s arms. It reminds her of an empty classroom, and another hug that took her by surprise. Sighing, she rests her hands around Yang’s strong back, and presses her forehead against Yang’s shoulder. Yang smells like sweat now, and coffee, still, underneath, and the laundry detergent they use at Beacon. Familiar and safe, inexplicably so.

“You could never be the worst partner, Blake,” Yang murmurs in her hair. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me think that.”

Blake nods, and tightens her hold around Yang’s waist, and, like a fool, believes her.


End file.
